Rue & Thyme
by Nanaki BH
Summary: [VincentxReeve] He cries for the loss of innocence.


Disclaimer:_ Final Fantasy VII_,_ Dirge of Cerberus_, and all associated materials are property of Squaresoft.

Rue & Thyme  
By: Nanaki BH

The glow of the television shone brightly against his face as little went on in his mind. Busy characters and wide smiles did nothing to change his mood. A pale hand rose to comb deftly through short, black locks and a grimace crossed his features. He remained sprawled on the couch and his hand fell limply to the carpeted floor as if repulsed by the foreign sensation. He continued to watch the television with disinterest; his eyes transfixed while his mind was somewhere else.

"Who was it who failed first?" he wondered aloud. "Me… or you?"

After years upon years of holding onto his memories, Vincent found it harder with each passing day to let them go. It became almost like a second nature to him to reflect on them. His memories, his failure, became necessary to his day. The scenario played like a marathon in a black and white theatre through his mind's eye countless seconds of the day. He wanted nothing more than to just let them go, to never have to grieve again. Though inside, there was still a part of him that never wanted to forget. His punishment felt far from over. He could never repent quite enough for the lives which were harmed by his mistake.

Tears appeared at the corners of his eyes; something Vincent didn't think was possible anymore. Just when he thought for sure they wouldn't fall, his breath caught in his throat and the tears slid easily down his cheeks. He didn't bother wiping them away. They proved to him that he was sorry. In a way, they were comforting.

At the same time, he believed he didn't deserve the comfort they provided. His head felt dizzy, his stomach felt sick – he just wanted to escape; to curl up and forget everything.

He shut his eyes tightly and drew his knees up to his chest. "Why?" he whispered, voice cracking. "Leave me alone. Please. Just leave me alone!" His cry echoed in the empty corners of the room, coming back as if to mock him. His crying grew harder and he buried his face in his arms, hiding him from no one but himself.

When he heard the lock on the door click, he jumped and panicked. The sound could mean only one thing: Reeve was home. Although that was, at times, a good thing, in Vincent's current state of mind, it was a very bad thing. He didn't want to face him, he didn't want to even look at him but he could do nothing to leave the couch; his limbs felt locked. When Reeve entered and announced his presence, he just remained still.

Reeve hesitated at the light switch and failed to turn it on, surprised to find Vincent lying so quietly on the couch. His eyes opened wide in disbelief, unsure of whether or not they were deceiving him. "Your hair," he said, briskly crossing the room to crouch at his side. "You cut it off." It was neither an insult nor a compliment, so Vincent didn't know how to interpret his reaction. Either way, he didn't feel like speaking with him.

He gave Vincent a moment, inspecting him silently. He left the T.V. on beside them; the only noise to bridge the silence. Gently, he ran a hand through his hair, marveling as the short, black strands slipped through his fingers. A shiver worked its way through Vincent involuntarily. "I like it," he said, almost as a way of comforting him. "What made you decide to cut it?"

He certainly had a valid question but Vincent had no real answer to it. Looking in the mirror, all of a sudden it was like he didn't recognize himself. After it was over, after the very last snip, he realized how odd his new hair looked with his outfit. He abandoned his mantel, but it made him feel so exposed. He didn't do it for a change. It wasn't because he was sick of his long hair. He just missed being Vincent Valentine.

"I miss her… you know? I miss the way things used to be. I guess this is just me, desperately trying to reconnect with the past like always." He laughed, but his tears were too obvious. He choked on a sob and when he tried to laugh it off again, he succeeded in only letting out another gasp. "Goddamn it," he muttered angrily, dragging a sleeve across his wet cheeks.

A firm hand was placed on one of Vincent's shoulders and Reeve turned him to look at him. His eyes, first searching and intense, became kind. He opened up his arms, offering a safe shelter to Vincent. Instead of simply accepting his embrace, Vincent stared at him coldly, as if he were acting absurd.

"Do you think I'm five?" he growled.

Reeve frowned, looking disappointed, and then defiantly, he grabbed Vincent and held him against his chest, hugging him to himself tightly. No matter how much Vincent struggled or yelled at him, he wouldn't let him go. Although he was acting like he wanted to get away, Reeve knew that Vincent was craving attention. He'd been leaving him alone too often; alone to obsessively think about his personal failures.

Vincent wanted to scream. There he was, being held so closely by the most important person in his life, and all he could think about was a person who was long gone. She was gone, she would never be back to hold him again so comfortingly, and it disappointed him that she was all he could think about as Reeve held him. He couldn't understand it, how he could be so tied to the past.

He weakly put his arms around Reeve's waist to hug him back. Hesitantly, he rested his head against his chest. "I want to… But – But I can't."

"What are you so afraid of?"

The darkness felt like it was closing in. "…Loving you."

Reeve was silent; a good or bad thing, Vincent wasn't sure. He must've been offended and, honestly, Vincent couldn't blame him if he were. He did so much for him and even if Vincent _wanted_ to return his feelings, he found it too hard. He didn't want to tell him that he still needed time to "move on". He'd been trying to move on for years and it seemed like he would never get passed the crying. Yet… why was it he felt so comfortable?

There was something about him. There was something about Reeve that reminded him so much of her; his smile, his gentle touch. Truthfully, the way their arms felt wrapped around his shoulders even felt alike. That's where the problem lied, he realized. They were too similar. Loving Reeve would be like abandoning her, substituting for her.

"Vincent," Reeve said, just loud enough to jar him from his thoughts. He looked up, eyes still slightly averted, to give him his attention. "Don't you think she wanted you to move on? I can't believe a person held in such esteem by you would want you to remain fixated. If she really loved you, she'd want you to live as if she _were_ here, right? You aren't dead yet – so live for yourself."

At the sound of a sniff, Vincent looked up, surprised to see Reeve with tears in the corners of his eyes. He wasn't the only one hurting anymore and all he knew was that he didn't want to see Reeve in pain. Gently, Vincent held his face in his clawed hand, amazed by the contrast between skin and steel. He shut his eyes and closed the space between them, pressing his lips lightly to Reeve's. Their kiss was simple yet intimate; neither of them searching to feel as they were to love.

They separated silently. Vincent pushed a hand through his hair, then smirked. "So do you really like my hair?" he asked, sounding a little unsure.

Reeve leaned forward and gave him another small kiss. "Yeah. It's you."

Author's Notes: I really like this one. I'll admit that Vincent went overboard with the angsting but he wouldn't be the same if he didn't. I fanned a little more on Dirge and decided I had to write this. I hope you enjoyed it! Feedback's always appreciated!


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